


Onamae wa

by rillaelilz



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillaelilz/pseuds/rillaelilz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just “John” - it’s never just “John”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Onamae wa

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, I'm a bit confused myself about this, but... okay. Forgive the second-person narrative, I'll do my best not to let that happen again. :)

He has a way of eking it out,  _John_ , droplet by single droplet, as if he was afraid he could run out of it at any given moment. And yet, as name-thrifty as Anders seems to be these days, there’s no containing the range of hues and tones he can pour into a mere syllable.

It’s like a wide set of suits, and he’s got one for every occasion, all neatly lined up in the back of his throat, ready to unfold with a roll of his tongue.

Because, you see, the sound that will seldom slip out of those thin lips like a thought crossing his mind by pure chance, that’s not just “ _John”_  - it’s  _never just John._

There’s a John with a plain “ _o”_  and a John dragged out in awe; there’s the angry John, short and harsh like he’s biting your head off with the mere sound of it, and then there’s a John - the  _Joh-n_  when he forgets himself, when he’s still half-asleep and John’s not a name yet - not a sigh or a barked retort, just a breath, a comforting mumble enclosed in the nook between Anders’ cheek and the crinkled pillowcase.

It’s  _John_  with a smirk, John as a moan, John with his fingers woven through your hair.

Oh, yes, sometimes it’s John the Bellowed’s turn, though the worst one has to be John the Secretly Hurt: the one that will subtly turn into  _Mitchell_  again and leave a sour taste even in your mouth. But then come the urging  _John—! -_ and the  _warning_  John, and  _the_  John -  _John_  with your nose nuzzling his navel and your lips to the tender curve of his belly;  _John, oh_ , with his arms spread and sinking like soft butter into the milky sheets, his lean legs tied like a wiry knot around your waist.

And then, then there’s the hushed  _John_ , light and fuzzy and lost with a curl of his toes and dipped in the wisps on your head; the John that sounds like _Come here_ , murmured, longing,  _enthralling;_  and the tricky one - the one that’s spelled like John but reads I love you.

And honestly, how could you ever choose a favourite?


End file.
